


The Garden Of Earthly Delights

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Breathplay, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rough Sex, terrible people doing terrible things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex, death, and other boring crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden Of Earthly Delights

**Author's Note:**

> While Jerome is legally an adult, he's still extremely emotionally immature, and there's a major power imbalance in the relationship, so if something like that is upsetting to you, Dear Reader, just don't read this story. Please use your discretion.  
> I am not involved in the production of Gotham, and this school is not involved in the production of Gotham. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

He's not a child.  
“Of course not,” Theo says with a slippery smile, “You're a very mature young man.”  
“I'm not a child,” Jerome repeats, more insistently.  
“No,” Theo replies, his expression softening, “You're not.”  
Jerome frowns. It's hard to know what's going to happen next when people get like this. When they're nice. It's like they're hiding something from you- and they know you know it, too- and the fun for them is making you guess what they're hiding. But Jerome likes guessing games. He can play all day. So, he turns that frown upside-down.  
“How old are you?”  
Theo laughs, his face cracking into a grin. “How old am I?”  
“Yeah. You know how old I am, right? I wanna know how old you are.”  
“Well, no one's asked me that for a very long time.” Theo says it in that way that grown-up's have, when they think they're talking to you like you're a grown-up, too. It's not fooling Jerome, though. Grown-up's never talk to each other like this.  
“Are you forty?”  
Theo laughs, somewhat less... shiny than he was. “I'm... going to have to plead the Fifth, here.”  
“You don't look forty.” But Theo does. Once people pass a certain point in life, they look... used. Something goes out of them, and you can begin to see death coming close to them. That's why it always makes Jerome laugh when he kills someone young. They never have that look- like death's coming for them. But maybe it's not really death, because it's just Jerome. He's not a guy in a robe with a sickle. He's just him. There's something to Theo's eyes that makes him look even older than forty, like he's been living for a long time with the possibility that death could get him.  
“I'm going to assume you mean that I look younger, and take it as a compliment.”  
“But how old are you?”  
Theo laughs again. It's not all the way to angry, but it's not a happy laugh. He's laughing because he knows he should.  
“I'll tell you a secret about myself if you tell me how old you are.”  
It's closer to happy, now. “I'll bet you have some interesting secrets.”  
Jerome feels his voice getting lower, as it does sometimes, not always when he wants it to. “Oh, you know most of them, but I still have a couple of good ones.”  
“Okay,” Theo says. The smile is indulgent, now. “I was born in 1968.”  
Oh, great. Math. “So, you're...” he looks at the ceiling while he does the arithmetic, “Forty-seven?”  
“Guilty.”  
“So, you were,” he looks at the ceiling for slightly longer, “Twenty-nine when I was born.”  
“Guilty, on all counts.”  
“What were you doing then?”  
“In 1997? This and that. My academic career extended into my thirties. I have two doctorates, one in molecular biology, and one in organic chemistry.”  
“I didn't even graduate high school.”  
“Schooling isn't everything. Lived experience isn't to be had in a classroom. I've known plenty of scholars, and I can't think of a one who had your self-knowledge or determination.”  
Jerome's spent his whole life around con artists. So, of course, he knows a long con when he sees one. But still. It's nice to believe. That's the whole point. That's why it works. Because you want to believe. What Theo actually wants from him, though, Jerome can't imagine.  
Well, yeah, he can imagine, actually. He's been around that his whole life, too. People chasing something warm and soft, or warm and hard, dragging themselves through the filth after just the hope of getting off with another human body. Sometimes, it seems like it's the only thing people do. Theo can have anyone. If he can't make them want him, he can just buy them. So, why go after Jerome? Well, the answer to that question, alone, is worth the price of admission.  
“I said I'd tell you a secret about myself.”  
Theo raises his eyebrows. “Why, yes, you did.”  
“Don't you want to know what it is?”  
“I don't like to pry.”  
“Yes, you do.”  
That gets him the good laugh. “You've got me- I do like to know things about people.”  
Jerome leans in, makes the same face he's seen Barbara make. The one that makes men forget what they were talking about a second earlier. “I've never kissed anyone before.”  
“I don't believe that for a second,” Theo answers, scolding in jest.  
“But it's true!”  
“How can that be possible?”  
He feels himself pouting. “It just is.”  
“It's perfectly normal. Things don't happen all at once, or at the same time, for everybody.”  
“I know. But when I went away to Arkham, I thought,” he does that fake-sad little gaspy thing that Barbara does, “Now, it's never going to happen.”  
“You don't have to worry about that, now. The world's wide open for you. If you want something, all you have to do is take it.”  
“Do you really mean that?”  
“Of course. Which brings me back to what I was trying to tell you, earlier, when you took offense: you're very young. Not, of course, a child, but still, very young, with plenty of time to do everything you want to do. You shouldn't be in such a hurry. Things happen when they should, and it's up to you to enjoy them as they do.”  
“But, also, to take what I want.”  
“It's just as much of a sin to let opportunities pass you by as it is to wish your life away.”  
Looking heavenward, Jerome sighs. “This is hard,” he brings his eyes back down to Theo's, “You'll have to teach me.”  
“Only you can decide what kind of person you want to be. What I can offer you is the benefit of my own experience.”  
Jerome stands, pushes the breakfast table away from Theo, enjoying the sound it makes as it scrapes across the floor. “So, offer it to me.”  
Theo shakes his head. “You are a funny boy.”  
Jerome's about to object, to say yet again that he isn't a boy, isn't a child, when Theo grabs his wrist. His thumb presses into the place where Jerome can feel his heartbeat. “It's here. If you want it.”  
Once you get on a ride, you have to stay on until it stops. Everyone knows that. If you try to get off too soon, it'll throw you. Or you'll fall. So, Jerome settles himself onto Theo's lap, legs spread, facing him. “Like this?” he asks.  
Theo's expression is unreadable. It's not pleased, not exactly. It's not displeased, either. “You've really never been kissed?”  
“Nope.”  
“How odd.” He puts his hand on the back of Jerome's head, and jerks him forward. It's collision. But a friendly one. From the outside, when Jerome watches other people do this, it always looks sort of painful. The sudden intrusion of someone else's tongue in your mouth, all that twitching meat, like something from a horror movie. All those teeth that aren't yours. Or it just seems silly and wet. Watching Barbara kiss Tabitha, Jerome started to wonder how he could have thought Barbara was beautiful. Seeing her face stretched into that odd shape, skin and muscle suddenly rubbery. All of those stupid noises coming out of her. He'd watched the whole thing, from a place neither of them could see him, watched them undress and play with each other. Watched Tabitha spread Barbara's legs and kiss her there. Watched her kiss Barbara on the mouth right after. It was supposed to turn him on, and it did, but in a way he didn't really like. Peoples' bodies are gross, when you look at them close enough. So, why do you want them?  
Maybe it's the grotesquerie that appeals. Like at the circus. The freaks always had the longest lines outside of their tents. The freaks who were also kind of sexy had the very longest lines. Like Mom. You could dress it up any way you wanted to, to say that she was just a dancer, but underneath the fancy costume, Mom was a freak, too. Maybe when you get the right combination of arousal and disgust, that's when it's really good.  
Look at him. He's sitting on a man more than twice his age. Old enough to be his father. Theo's kissing him, hard but not mean, his hand in Jerome's hair. Unless the sky falls in the next half hour or so, they're going to have sex. That's what's going to happen. Jerome's on the ride, and he can't get off. Theo's burned through more than half his life, and Jerome can feel all of that extinguished time in his skin and his flesh. Theo's old. But Jerome doesn't want this to stop.  
“Was it worth the wait?” Theo asks, his voice oddly flat.  
“Yeah.”  
“At your age, just about everything feels good,” he laughs, “I wouldn't go back to that for anything. You don't even feel like your body belongs to you anymore, but that you're just a slave to your hormones.”  
This is a way out. Jerome sees it for what it is. He sees the whole picture for what it is. This is part of the con. But Jerome's paid his fare, and he's going to stay on the ride until it stops.  
“And how do you feel?” Jerome doesn't even have to make himself sound breathless. He just is.  
“Oh, I'm in control of myself. You, on the other hand, need to learn to do without. Up,” he gives Jerome's backside a little pat.  
“What?”  
“My ancient legs are losing circulation, and I have a little job for you to do. Don't worry- it's one you'll like. It won't even take you that long. After all, we have a big night, tonight.”  
Jerome stands. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “That's right.”  
“I'm glad you understand.”  
But there's still the feeling of being dismissed, like a child who's ceased to amuse. Jerome carries it through his reunion with Dad. After a while, he's no longer really sure who or what he's actually angry at. The anger is just there, under his skin, wanting to burst forth like blood from a punch to the nose, a smack to the mouth. It's still there, even after Jerome drives the knife through his father's skull. Surely, that should take some of it away, but it just changes, flattens and dulls. Spreads in his chest like gasoline in a puddle- lovely but poisonous.  
Then, Detective Gordon shows up, so it's another reunion. This one's a lot more intimate. Sometimes even a hand reached out in violence feels good, somehow. Someone's touching you. Maybe not the way you want, but it means that they know you're there. Even as an object to be thrown out of the way, or a place to pin whatever nastiness they're feeling. It's good, that casual grappling- so different from just inflicting yourself on someone. It's a fight, a real fight, even though there's no way Jerome can win, even with Jim half unconscious, and Jerome feels some of the anger subside.  
By the time he returns to the house- alone, because Tabitha, as always, has big, important things to do- the anger's become that weird, happy kind, where you can't sit still.  
“So, I take it you had a nice outing,” Theo says, looking up from his newspaper.  
“I met up with Detective Gordon.”  
“Oh, and how did that go?”  
“You know what it's like- cops have no sense of humor.”  
“So few people do.”  
He has to push his luck. Maybe it's not anger anymore, but something's under his skin, and he just has to scratch it out. But it'd feel better to have someone else scratch it out for him. He snatches away the paper, folds himself into Theo's lap, like before. “What about you? Do you have a sense of humor?”  
“Well, I don't think this is funny, if that's what you mean,” Theo answers, with the fatigue of the old who must suffer the whims of the young.  
“Why should you? It's not a joke.”  
Theo looks like he's considering something for a moment, then says, “I won't lie, Jerome. I certainly find you interesting. For your potential, but also for who you already are. I can't promise you any great romance, but there's no reason why two adults can't amuse themselves together for an afternoon. Get up. This still isn't good for my circulation.”  
Jerome stands, and lets himself be lead deeper into the house, to Theo's room. It's dark. And quiet. “It's like a tomb in here.”  
Theo closes the door behind them. “I do come here to rest.”  
“Yeah, but it's... depressing.”  
Theo laughs, a clipped bark in the dark. “When you get to be my age, you'll find that you'll have lost some of your fondness for the garish.”  
“I'm never going to be your age,” Jerome teases, throwing his arms onto Theo's shoulders, “I'm going to be eighteen forever, or I'm going to die young.”  
“That's no way to talk,” Theo says gently, “You have a long, eventful life ahead of you.”  
It's getting boring. All this Dad stuff. So, Jerome kisses him, like Theo kissed him before. All that fancy stuff with his tongue- only, it's not so easy to do when you're thinking about it, trying to get it right. If you think about it too much, it's just weird.  
“You get points for enthusiasm,” Theo says.  
“Just enthusiasm?”  
“Slow down. You can take your time. We don't have to go anywhere for hours.”  
“Hours?” Can it take hours?  
“Yes, hours. Come on, sit down,” Theo motions to his bed, “Would you like a drink?”  
“I don't drink.” Does never having had a drink mean he doesn't drink, though?  
“Very wise. I'm going to have one.”  
“Actually- yeah. I would like a drink.”  
Theo raises his eyebrows. “All right. What would you like?”  
“Whatever you're having is fine.”  
Theo gives him an inch of brown liquor in a glass that could hold a lot more. Jerome regards it skeptically. “Why so little?”  
“It's whiskey, Jerome, not fruit punch. You don't want to drink a lot of it, especially not at once. The shape of the glass is meant to help you appreciate the perfume; the air helps one to enjoy the flavor. Are you sure you wouldn't like something else?”  
“No, no. It's fine.” It tastes like shit. It makes him gag. But Jerome has to keep drinking. As Jerome finishes his drink, Theo regards him with dark, placid eyes over the rim of his glass. Theo's looking at him, and then, suddenly, he feels warm, all through his chest. His knees are weak, but not in a bad way. Suddenly, he knows that everything's going to be all right. Is this what it's like to be in love? People say that this is what it's like.  
“Would you like another drink?” Theo asks.  
“Yeah,” Jerome says quietly. He watches Theo stand, walk to the liquor cabinet, pour their drinks. He watches him walk back to Jerome. He's looking at Theo's hands, and eyes, and at his mouth, and his neck, as he takes the glass.  
It's easier to swallow, now. His throat isn't tight anymore. His tongue no longer feels scorched. All of the tension in his shoulders dissolves. Why was he so upset? He can't remember.  
“Thank you,” he sighs, belatedly.  
“My pleasure.”  
He finishes his drink. “Can we try kissing again? I really think I'm getting the hang of it.”  
Theo laughs, but sets the glasses aside, and kisses him. Why was this so difficult, before? All you have to do is open your mouth, and let the other person inside. It all melts together, now, so easily, and Jerome finds it easy to lie back, to continue to kiss and be kissed. The weight of Theo's body is both overwhelming and reassuring. Like the alcohol. You could fight it, but why would you want to? When it feels so good to let it smother you.  
“Touch me,” he hears himself say. A balloon let go into the night sky. A spot of color almost immediately swallowed up by darkness.  
“There's no rush,” Theo murmurs against his neck, loosening his tie.  
No, there isn't. But there is. Something should be happening. What, exactly, Jerome doesn't know, but if it's not happening now- It might never happen. He tries to help himself, but Theo just pushes his hand away. He is, however, permitted to rub up against Theo, which he does, even though it makes him think of couples at the circus, behind the tents, where they thought no one could see them. All of that pushing and bumping, and it always looked more like a fight than sex. Not even a good fight. Where was the blood? It's all he's allowed, though, so he does it, spreads his legs, bends one at the knee. Wraps it around Theo when Theo's not paying attention. Now, he can't get away.  
Why did he think it was a good idea to wear a tie, today? At least he took off his sweater once he came in from outside. Having to deal with the sweater, too, would have been unbearable. When he tries to take off any piece of Theo's clothing, he has his hands pulled away.  
“I'll tie them to the headboard if you don't behave,” Theo says. It's supposed to sound sexy, Jerome knows, and it does. Sort of. It also sounds... not sexy. So, Jerome holds still, contents himself with holding onto Theo, being moved around as Theo pleases.  
Finally, the tie comes off. Jerome lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.  
“I know,” Theo says, “I know you want everything at once, but I just don't want this to be over too soon. I want the memory to be worth something.”  
That seems like something a grown-up would say. They always think that everything has to be a memory. Sometimes, things just happen. Because they need to happen. It doesn't last forever, and you don't want it to. Sometimes, you just want it to be over, so you can forget it even happened and get on with your life.  
But Jerome can't say any of that. He might have paid for the ride, but he's not its conductor. Anyway, he doesn't know where this particular track leads. So, he just makes a slightly irritated sound, rolls his eyes, and lets Theo kiss him again.  
It goes on like this for a while, until Theo decides to finally take off Jerome's shirt. That's when something changes. What, Jerome can't say- but it's like- it's like he's passed some kind of test, for sticking around this long. Theo takes his mouth off of Jerome's, moves down to his neck. Pushes his head back- gently, but unmistakably- and bites him. This, too, is gentle but unmistakable, and Jerome can't stop himself from making one of those silly sounds. He has his hand on the back of Theo's head, like a girl in a vampire movie, as Theo bites him a little bit harder. It hurts, of course it hurts, but it's a weird kind of pain, sparkling, electric. Maybe Theo's going to suck out all of the poison under his skin.  
Now, Theo's hands are everywhere. Around Jerome's neck. It's scary, and it's painful, but it's thrilling. Jerome thinks about watching Tabitha choke Barbara until Barbara's eyes rolled back in her head, and for a second, Jerome thought that Barbara was dead, and he was wordlessly angry, and sad, and scared, and excited, all at once. Then, Barbara's head snapped back up, and she was grinning, and Jerome finally understood how she ended up at Arkham instead of regular jail. Is this what it was like for Barbara? And is it weird that both Tabitha and Theo do this? Like, do they compare notes, or something?  
Before it gets to be too much, Theo's kissing him again, his mouth and his neck, and Jerome ventures an experimental tug at Theo's tie.  
“It is getting in the way, isn't it?” Theo muses, and takes it off. Flings it onto the bed, followed by his jacket.  
Finally, finally, Theo slips his hand into Jerome's pants. People are right- it feels totally different when someone else does it. You can't control it. You don't know how the other person's going to touch you. Theo's hands are soft, like a girl's, and that's weird. It's weird for him to be that soft, but have such a strong grip. It almost hurts. That weird pain, again, that makes Jerome want to push through, to keep fucking himself slick in the tight, hot hollow of Theo's hand.  
Then, it's Theo's mouth, not his hand, and that's like nothing- like no other thing, ever. His blood is sizzling in his veins, lighting him up like a Ferris wheel. Frantically, Jerome tries to think of anything else- anything to keep this going- and, now, he understands what Theo meant about it being over too soon.  
But he can't think, so he just says, “Stop.”  
“Not to your liking?” Theo asks, looking up.  
“No. You were right, that's all. I don't want it to end.”  
“We could try something else, pick it up, later.”  
Suddenly, it's like the world's cracked open. “Like what?”  
Theo moves up, half covers Jerome's body with his. “I think I'd like to fuck you,” Theo smiles, “Well, not now that you're making that face.”  
You have to see it through. It's a ride. It's a con. It's a game. It's a story. If you stop it, you lose nothing. You also get nothing.  
“Do it.”  
“That doesn't exactly convince me.”  
“I want you to fuck me.” Suddenly, Jerome finds that it's true. Anything to move forward, somehow. Anything to be touched.  
“Take off your clothes,” Theo tells him, unbuttoning his own shirt.  
“Now,” Theo says, when Jerome is naked on his bed, “this would probably be easier from behind, but call me a romantic- I prefer to do it face-to-face.”  
Now, he's lost Jerome. Jerome can't ask the question, though. There's being inexperienced, and then there's knowing absolutely nothing. One is forgivable; the other, laughable.  
“Put that pillow underneath your hips,” Theo says.  
He does. And he watches. Watches Theo fiddle with a little bottle before settling between Jerome's legs, and pushing the tip of one finger into him. When Jerome doesn't protest, he pushes in a bit more. It doesn't hurt, exactly. It's just very clear that something's in a place where there ought to be nothing. Out, then in, again. They do this for a while, and then Theo tries it with another finger. Now, it's beginning to hurt, but it's like being bitten. There's pain, but there's also something else with the pain, that makes you want to see where it all leads.  
Where it all leads is to Jerome watching, now, as Theo puts on a condom. It's oddly medical, somehow. There's the sense that Jerome's about to be operated on, that his body is going to be used in some clinical matter, somehow separate from, like, his soul, or whatever you want to call it.  
Of course, when it's Theo's cock going in, it hurts even more, even for all of the careful preparation. Actual pain, that cannot be denied, even worse for being inescapable- for where could Jerome go, when he's pinned open like this, like a specimen for dissection? He feels himself tear up- how embarrassing- and makes himself laugh, instead.  
“Are you all right?” Theo asks, like he'd rather not be asking, but knows that he should.  
“Yeah. I'm fine.”  
He doesn't ask again.  
It's... interesting. To watch a man like Theo sort of fall apart, for a while. That's something Jerome can hold onto, to carry him through this procedure. This is, Jerome, imagines, what Theo must really be like, under all of the manners and education and nice clothes. An animal. Sweating, and panting, and grasping. Utterly unconcerned by anything but his own bodily functions. Just like all of the furtive gropers, and messy drunks, and shaky drug addicts, and bored gawkers. And freaks. Back at the circus. That actually makes it kind of good. It doesn't feel good, but it's good to experience, all the same. To be here when it happens. To be its cause.  
As it happens, it doesn't take very long, which isn't a surprise. For all of his big talk, when it's Theo who has to wait, time and memory can take a flying leap. When he's done, he gets off of Jerome, disappears into the bathroom, and comes back looking more like his usual self.  
“I don't expect that that was entirely pleasant for you,” he says.  
“No,” Jerome shrugs, “That was fine.”  
Laughing, Theo shakes his head. “I don't think so.” He yanks the pillow out from under Jerome's hips, and kisses him again. All of that detachment, that sense of not being there, that Jerome was feeling goes away, and he's back in it. Maybe this is how it always is. You have to let the other person get what they want before they'll be nice to you.  
Now, it's just kissing, and touching, and it's starting to feel good again. The pain is still there, with this weird feeling of being empty, cored like an apple- something taken out, and gone forever. With all of the other things he's feeling, it's confusing- like his nerves don't know which direction to fire in. He'll have to ask Theo what this means. He's a scientist; he'll have to know. Later. Jerome can ask later.  
Theo goes down on him again, and makes him come, this time. There's no reason not to let go, at this point. So, Jerome lets himself moan and arch and twitch, and he's held steady. Held down. Held onto. Again, Theo disappears into the bathroom. Jerome hears him spit. Then, the water runs.  
Things should be different, now, right? They should at least be weird. People fuck, and they don't know how to act around each other anymore. But Theo doesn't change. He's the same as he's always been. Just naked. And, then, not even that, when he puts on a bathrobe and tells Jerome that it's been fun, really, but he has to get ready for the party.  
“You should really start getting ready, too,” he says, gently scolding, like he always seems to be, “I know that Barbara and Tabitha are.”  
“They're girls,” Jerome mutters, “It takes them longer.”  
“Don't be like that, Jerome. We had a good time together, but now, it's time to get to work. It doesn't mean that we won't have a good time together again, in the future.”  
Is that a good thing, though? Is this something Jerome wants to do again? He'd better just keep doing it, then, until he knows how he really feels. “Really?” he finds himself asking.  
“I promise. Now, get dressed. I don't want you roaming the halls naked. It'd give Tabitha a terrible shock,” Theo chuckles, a nasty laugh that Jerome's never heard before, and suddenly, the next good time can't come soon enough.  
And they do. Have another good time together. It's fun, at the party. Putting on a show, for a captive audience. Knowing something that none of them know. And he knows something that not even Barbara and Tabitha know. Something that just he and Theo know, together.  
But Theo, as always, knows something that absolutely no one else knows. Until he shares it with Jerome. When the knife goes in, the first thing Jerome thinks is: Why didn't you tell me? We could have rehearsed this. Then, he thinks: Isn't this what you do when you haven't fucked someone- isn't putting a knife in someone supposed to be a substitute for putting your cock in them? But maybe Theo likes it both ways. Jerome can respect that. Of course, he can't say anything, at all, because there's a knife stuck in his neck, and he's dying. Theo is talking to him, whispering reassuring nonsense. Like this, they could almost be in bed together again. Theo's talking to him, and holding him, and aside from the unimaginable pain, and the slow realization that he's starting to be unable to feel his arms and legs, it's kind of nice. When someone's nice to you, you should always thank them. Jerome can't talk, can only sputter blood, but one thing he can do, with those last few breaths, is smile. Maybe, after he's dead, people will see him like this, and think that he knows something that they don't.  
Of course, he does. But what it is- he'll never tell.


End file.
